


Kitty Treat

by Kyonomiko



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 11:25:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13457238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyonomiko/pseuds/Kyonomiko
Summary: Polyjuice gone awry, and Draco decides it's time to chase a little kitty.





	Kitty Treat

**Author's Note:**

> Alpha and Beta love to Lightofevolution and In Dreams!

“This is to be the final year I must suffer you particular fools in my classroom.” Severus Snape, shockingly alive, scar on his neck, and no less acerbic than ever, stalks his newly renovated potions room, eyeing the class intently. 

“Since some of you had the benefit of a partial, if wholly inefficient, seventh year,” Hermione can hardly contain the roll of her eyes at the idea that everyone’s nightmare year was simply inefficient, “and others of you have had the benefit of… extracurricular practice….” At that, he pauses, and she would swear he levels her with a significant look. “…I have decided this year will begin at an advanced level.”

Hermione Granger can hardly contain her glee and bounces on her heels. The prospect of a challenge makes her nearly vibrate with excitement. 

“For your first assignment, you will brew Polyjuice. You will not work in pairs. As such, you will be solely responsible for the outcome, and I do expect you to ingest what you create. For this reason, I recommend you pay particular attention to your steps.” Sweeping his dark gaze around the room, he lands on Seamus and mutters, “Lest you implode yourself from the inside.”

The class at large giggles but abruptly stops at Snape’s look. They all seem to realize simultaneously that he hardly meant the comment as a joke. Remembering Finnegan’s many charred cauldrons over the years, a collective gulp is heard around the room.

After class, when Snape releases them from the dungeons, Hermione falls into step behind a pair of Ravenclaws and feels, more than sees, someone approach her peripheral.

“So, who do you imagine he’ll make us turn in to? If he’s in a particularly foul mood, I bet he takes the hair from his own greasy head.”

She looks over to find a smirking Draco Malfoy keeping pace with her more petite stride. He’s speaking to her.

On purpose.

She’s just not sure what to do with all that and tries to focus on what he said. “I thought he was your godfather? Shouldn’t you be more respectful?”

He shrugs and admits, “I owe him my life. He’s one of the most powerful and intelligent wizards I know.” He pauses for effect then and leans closer, his breath tickling her cheek. “But he’s still a git with dreadful hair.”

She can’t help the chuckle that slips through her lips and then straightens up, turning serious. “I hesitate to break this unspoken truce you seem to have decided on, but why are you talking to me?”

His grin grows wider, stretching from his crooked smirk to a completely symmetrical daughter-of-two-dentists-dream smile. “The war’s over, Granger. For the first time in my entire life, I can think whatever I want. Speak to whomever I want. So, I’m making conversation with the smartest witch I know.”

She stops in place and watches as he continues on, laughing openly and throwing a wink at her over his shoulder. She gapes after him as he strides away, contemplating his sincere smile.

XXXXXXXXX

Draco Malfoy was never truly happy until his eighteenth birthday. It was then that is mother gave him the proverbial keys to Malfoy Manor and took his father to live in their chalet in France. Harry Potter also gave him the testimony that cleared his name and opened his vaults.

And best of all, Hermione Granger approached him, dirty and skinny from his short time being held in Azkaban, and gave him her forgiveness. She stuck her pretty little nose in the air and stalked away before he could reply, but she said it, and he wouldn’t let her take it back. 

For eighteen years he did what was demanded of him. Now, he’s wealthy, he’s free, and the one person who should hate him forever made him feel redeemed. He’s had a spring in his step ever since. 

Eighth year is also off to a great start. He found Potter on the train and offered his gratitude and his hand. This time, the wizard took it. He also has Snape back in the potions room, throwing Slytherin points at his snakes left and right, presumably making up for all those years Dumbledore favoured Gryffindor and the hellish year the Carrows sucked any joy out of winning the House Cup.

Then, Hermione showed up, the day after the rest of them, arriving by floo straight from Australia and a reunion with her parents. Rumor has it (and by rumor Draco means Daphne Greengrass, where he receives his best gossip), that she’d had a brief love affair with Potter’s pet Weasel before breaking his heart and taking off for Perth. She came back confident, alluring, and quite single. Draco isn’t the only one to take notice. He sees a lot of hungry stares directed her way. 

She was always pretty, despite what Draco said to her face in their formative years. He never meant half of the garbage he used to spew, thinking it was what was expected of him. “You’re sexy, Pansy”, for example, had been a definite fabrication. 

Now, studying Hermione with complete, sincere honesty, he thinks she’s bloody delicious. Her curls are luxurious, her smile is radiant, her eyes are fucking art, and her body… 

Well, he would love a chance to find out the proper adjectives first hand.

Striving to be close to her, Draco seeks out seats near her in each class they share. In potions on day one, he watched her adorable little bunny hop when Snape announced their assignment, her arse bouncing right along with the rest of her.

During these initial four weeks of classes, Draco made efforts at frequent conversation. She seemed wary at first, but quickly joined him in verbal banter, ever friendlier over time. He tries not to rush, playing a long game. By the holidays, he would very much like to have Hermione Granger on his arm. Valentine’s Day at the latest. She’s the smartest, sexiest witch at school, and a final nail in the coffin that everything he was supposed to believe was archaic nonsense.

Plus, he hears from Daphne who heard from Theo who was talking to Zabini who is secretly fucking Ginny Weasley, that her brother, Ron, was overheard sobbing to Potter about how much he missed Hermione and her delectable mouth when she gave him head.

He watches that mouth a lot. Her perfect little cupid’s bow and the way she purses her lips when she considers a lecture in class and how her hot little tongue peeks out of the corner when she’s concentrating.

How he made it six years pretending she was filth is beyond him.

“We have reached the conclusion of this particular potion. Today, you will apply the hair I provide and test your alleged Polyjuice on yourself.” Snape rolls the words around in his mouth. Dramatic and slow as usual, frustrating half the class and making some of the witches swoon. Draco doesn’t understand it, lank-haired vampire that he is, but he has been told that quite a few of the female students think of Snape’s voice and supposed dexterous hands while alone in their beds. 

“Step forward to receive the hair for your last stage and place it in your cauldron. Once each student has been called, dole out a vial of your concoction, and may Merlin have mercy on you.”

The class titters, but, at his sharp look, stifle the laughter and realize that, as usual, Severus Snape is not trying for levity. 

There is an uncharacteristic twinkle in his eye when he calls for the witch of Draco’s affection to step forward. “Miss Granger.”

She hops off her stool and nearly dances to the front, taking the offered hair wrapped in parchment with a sunny smile and gushing a ‘thank you’ at their professor. Draco watches the man wipe the ghost of a smirk from his face and continue calling students to his desk. 

Draco is the last name called and, as he is making his way back up too his table, he notices Granger, his eager little minx, mix her hair into the potion and scoop out a healthy swallow of the nasty sludge. 

He applies his own hair and stirs as instructed before filling a vial. He is about to drink when he hears a terrible little shriek.

Many other students are in the beginning stages of their transformations, some clutching their stomachs or rubbing nervous hands over their morphing faces, but Granger is already standing upright, gripping the edges of her desk.

Abandoning his potion, Draco steps around his cauldron to get a closer look. From the back, she looks like his Hermione, curls tumbling down her back, trim waist disappearing into the waistband at the top of her hips, slender legs taunting him as they do every day with their creamy, silky perfection. She’s precisely the same as normal…

Except for the sleek, furry tail that is curled out from under her skirt, twitching in agitation like a kneazle in a room full of rocking chairs. 

Further circling her, he finds perched on the top of Granger’s head, two perfect pointy ears, tipped in tufts of reddish fur and straining to focus on the bevy of sounds in the room. Her face is the same. Her beautiful eyes are wide and unfocused, glazed expression of disbelief giving her a haunted look. Her pretty lips are parting, heavy pants coming out between them. She looks up, locking eyes with Draco, and licks her lips.

Her voice is rough when she tries to speak; a hoarse whisper. “Do I…” She stops, clears her throat, and tries again with slightly more volume. “Do I have a tail?”

Eyes as wide as hers, Draco simply nods once and watches her face crumple in disappointment and irritation.

“Bad luck, Miss Granger. Perhaps one of your little familiar’s hairs stuck to the parchment? I did warn everyone as to the dangers of brewing this potion. Full marks for the assignment, of course. Your Polyjuice works perfectly. It’s almost as if you’ve had practice…” 

Draco watches a light behind Hermione’s eyes as she looks at Snape and swallows. The man is dripping sarcasm and smiling evilly down at her. She nods once, accepting the grade, and asks, “Can I please be excused to the hospital wing?”

“Of course. You’ve certainly fulfilled my requirements for the day, Miss Granger. Well done.”

Draco watches his godfather swirl around in a billow of robes and return to his desk, oddly and openly pleased. “Sir?”

“Mister Malfoy?”

He puts on his most confident face and gestures to the witch packing up her kit. “Perhaps I should escort her?”

Draco waits with a held breath while Snape looks him over, digging into his brain with those piercing eyes of his, then the man nods curtly. “Very well. Return after dinner to test your own potion.”

Draco nods, scoops up his potion, and casts a stasis charm on the liquid. He gathers his books and then begins toward the front of the room, looking back at Granger to ask, “Are you ready?”

She nods, her little cat ears perked up and her tail swinging as she follows. “Thanks, Malfoy.”

She bites her lip as they walk, in a shy and nervous way that isn’t typical for the ballsy Gryffindor, and he notices two little canines amongst her usually perfect teeth. She’s fucking adorable.

“So, I feel like I might have missed something , but… did Snape sabotage you?”

He watches her sigh. “I suspect he did, yes.”

“And why, if I might ask, would he do something like that? He’s been relatively tame toward you this year. Even let you answer a question last week.”

She chews her lip again, that sweet little point resting against the plump flesh, precarious and sharp. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to tell you. It was so long ago, after all.”

He waits a moment for her to finish, then goads her to continue. “Take your time, Granger. Probably hard for you to come up with the right words in your kitty cat mind, I imagine.”

She huffs and walks faster, leaving him two paces behind. Draco doesn’t mind at all, her new position giving him a perfect vantage point to watch her arse swing with her steps, fists balled at her sides. Most enticing of all, the Polyjuice conjured tail, the same reddish, soft fur as her ears, is standing up tall and jerking back and forth. The effect of which is her skirt riding up higher, revealing the backs of her thighs, right up to a teasing view of her panty line. In no hurry to lose the view, Draco laces his fingers behind his head, elbows cocked to the sides, and strides behind her with a stupid smile on his face. 

Eventually, he supposes he should apologize if he hopes to make his holiday goal with his kitten. “Granger, you know you’re brilliant. Don’t get your lovely little blue knickers in a twist.”

She pulls up short and her tails drops down immediately. “Bugger,” she mutters, blushing, and he grins ever wider.

“So, what did you do to earn this specific ire from everyone’s favorite Potions Master?”

Hermione has her face screwed up in annoyance and is searching the heavens, eyes rolled up toward the ceiling, for answers or patience. Merlin, she’s more appealing by the minute, his volatile little witch.

“If you must know, I stole into Snape’s stores a few years ago and brewed a batch of Polyjuice in Myrtle’s bathroom. Snape… he must have known. Or found out. Either way, I suppose this was his own unique sense of humor to pay me back.”

Draco barks out a laugh. He never would have known his godfather to do something so petty, but it makes him enjoy the man just a bit more.

“Yes. Hilarious,” she deadpans, then continues down the hall. 

Her tail is doing that delightful thing again and lifting her pleated skirt to very welcome heights. Her knickers are cut high on her cheeks, the crease at her thigh deepening with every step. He hurries to keep up, but not overtake her pace. “At least he gave you full marks.”

“Which is the only reason I’m not going to McGonagall,” she shoots back haughtily. 

“Why the cat hair, do you think?” He’s curious about that detail. It seems specific to her, especially as she had locked eyes with Snape in the classroom.

“When I brewed the batch in second year… I thought I had nicked the hair of a student but instead turned into her cat. It was all very mortifying. And don’t you laugh again!”

Draco bites his own lip to keep from doing just that. Getting himself back under control, he tries to soothe her, and maybe find an opening to advance his agenda. “It could be worse, you know.”

“How the bloody hell could this be worse?!?!” She thinks a moment, slowing her steps and allowing him to keep up, then notes, “Except lowering my marks of course.”

“I mean the transformation. It’s not that bad, Granger. You still look like you. Just there’s this extra little appendage that keeps giving me a nice view. Are those silk? I quite like that eyelet lace around the bottom.”

She snorts at him, not seeming to be too embarrassed anymore. “You would know what eyelet is.”

“Of course,” he agrees. “My mother thought it was important I be raised with knowledge of various arts, including witch’s fashion.”

“I see. Not because you fancy wearing it, I hope?” She has turned to him with a charming little smirk of her own, the tip of her tongue resting against the bottom of her little fang. 

“I’ll leave that to you. Though,” he continues, seizing an opening, “I do have excellent tastes. I could tell you, for instance, if that particular cut is well suited to your figure. Of course, I’d need a much closer look.”

Her smirk evolves, changes, until she is simply running her tongue along the jagged line of her little teeth, pace slowing to a crawl. “I’m pretty confident,” she starts carefully, “that I’ve chosen well. But then, you really can’t beat a man’s perspective on what flatters a woman’s arse.”

“You can’t,” he agrees with a shake of his head, feigning seriousness. “You should take advantage of the offer.”

She looks around them, and Draco notices they have made it maybe halfway to the hospital wing and are standing in one of the parts of the castle that is not really in use.

Her hand reaches out and curls around his wrist, her fingertips settled against the thrum of his pulse, and she tugs him toward a door.

“I, of course, would want your undivided attention. If you are going to give me a proper critique.”

Smiling and celebrating inside, Draco follows his delectable witch into what they find as an old classroom and promptly closes and wards the door. 

She walks deeper into the room, her hands clasped behind her back, steps measured and purposeful. In the center of the open space, she stops and spins, cocking her head to the side. “Where do you want me?”

Draco licks his lips, hardly believing his cheap line has landed him where he’s wanted to be for the past month. He looks around and finds an old desk at the head of the room. He nods with his head toward it. “You could… lean against that. Make it easier to… stay still while I have a look.”

She smirks, her confidence having the effect of somewhat leeching his. He’s been imagining this for weeks. Lying in bed, his hand wrapped around his throbbing cock, and rehearsing all the demanding and sensual things he could say to her. 

Hermione sashays across the room and leans over the desk, keeping her back to him and spreading her legs shoulder-width apart. Draco watches as she looks over one shoulder, locking eyes with him, and then that tail, that wonderful little accident, slowly swings back and forth as it rises, lifting the skirt up in its wake. Still holding his gaze, Hermione reaches back and helps the process along, lifting it the rest of the way and tucking it into her waistband in the back.

He’s sure he doesn’t move for at least a minute. Hermione Granger is bent over, her knickers dark in the center where her wet core has dampened the silk, tail twitching like it’s waving hello.

“Well?”

He starts, forgetting he was supposed to be doing anything other than just watching her. “Well?” He echoes, unsure as to her question.

“Do they suit me?”

Right. The knickers. Draco’s brain starts again, and he grapples for control of, if not the situation, at least his own mind.

“They certainly aren’t a bad choice,” he allows. “Of course, I should look closer. All angles, and all that.”

She nods sagely, still looking over her shoulder. “Oh, right. Please, come closer, Draco.”

His name drips off her tongue like honey, and he is right behind her within a breath. He settles in, inches from her body, and lays his hands on her hips, thumbs running along the trim, barely lifting the lace so only a fraction of his skin touches beneath. “Quite becoming,” he says softly. “I think you made a very good decision. Can I pet you, Kitten?”

She whimpers and arches her back, and that tail, that wonderful, sneaky little tail, trails across Draco’s collarbone, soft as velvet on his skin. Assuming that’s his permission to go further, he slides his hands under the silk and smooths his fingertips over her arse, his thumbs running dangerously close to her center at the crease of her thighs.

“Maybe you… need to see the front?” She is breathing faster, coherent thought seeming more difficult for her as his fingers explore, ever daring in how far they reach. 

Leaning closer, Draco pushes his erection against her, gripping her flesh and pulling her back into him. She groans with him and bends her knees to lower and then lift her body, grinding and sliding against his cock.

“I think, I definitely need to see more,” he manages, and steps back just enough for her to stand and face him.

She’s flushed and panting, and Draco pulls her toward him without hesitation, shoving his tongue down her throat. Meeting him with equal desire, Hermione runs her nails down his scalp and to the nape of his neck.

Before he even knows what’s happening, she has the buttons on his oxford undone and is pushing his shirt from his shoulders. Straddling his knee, she is grinding her core against him in rhythm with her talented little tongue. Realizing he is about two steps behind, Draco grips her shirt at the waist and pulls it from her skirt, lifting it until he feels it stretch then give over the swell of her breasts. He finds her nipples, hard against the silk still encasing her, and brushes over them with his thumb, swallowing her moan when he does. 

Pulling away from her mouth in favor of her throat, he licks a line across her clavicle then settles at her pulse, nipping and suckling at her while she pants in his ear.

“It’s a matched set,” she mumbles, and Draco stops to meet her eyes.

Panning her gaze down and playing with one dainty strap over her shoulder, Hermione levels him with a look that’s pure seduction. “I always try to match. What do you think of this part? Do you like how it looks on me?”

Draco looks down at the blue demi-cups, her cleavage trying to spill out of the top, and licks his lips, anticipating what comes next. “I’ll concede, you don’t need any assistance on this front. You look fucking delicious,” he adds, losing the banter entirely and landing on a completely raw compliment. 

Hermione leans away just enough to lift her shirt over her head. He watches as she also runs the zip down on her skirt and lets it drop to the floor. Left in nothing but her perfectly matched blue set, she presses her lips to his. Her hands, meanwhile, pull the loop through his belt and slide the leather from his trousers.

Distracted as he is by her delicate touch so close to his straining length, Draco hasn’t forgotten what’s in front of him. Finding the clasp at the front of her bra, he pulls the latch apart and slides the straps from her shoulders, leaving her almost completely bare. Only her knickers remain, practically soaked through. He breaks the kiss and lowers his head to lathe one peak, then the other, feeling the weight of her breasts in his hands, cupping them and kneading the skin before sucking each nipple into his mouth, rolling his tongue around the tip.

She keens above him, losing her concentration on his trousers. Draco does her the favor of finishing the job, shuffling them down his legs and kicking off his shoes and pants. He’s completely nude and she’s not far behind, allowing him to pull her knickers down her hips and slipping her feet through them, her sensible Mary Jane’s the only thing left behind. 

“Fuck, Granger, are we really doing this?”

She laughs just as she reaches down and grips his cock in her warm hand, squeezing lightly then running her palm over the tip. “If we’re not, this has been an awful lot of trouble. What say we just keep going?” She punctuates her question with another pass of her palm, dragging his pre-cum down his shaft and pumping him slowly.

“Smartest witch I know,” he mumbles and slides his index finger into her dripping sex.

They continue that way for a time, she pumping him at an agonizing pace, Draco paying her back by slowly impaling her and kissing her languidly. Finally, both taunted and encouraged by her whimpers and breathy pleas of “yes, like that” and “please, I want more”, he turns her and pushes her face down to lay atop the desk.

Eyes roving her round little arse, that ridiculous, adorable fucking tail twitches, beckoning him. He drops to his knees, whispers reverently, “Aren’t you a pretty kitty,” and buries his face in her cunt.

She rewards him with the sweetest moan of his name he’s ever heard, her legs stiffening with tension and her fingers gripping the desk. He licks a line up her slit and then flicks his tongue against her clit before sucking it into his mouth. He alternates, finding a steady rhythm that seems to be building her toward a crescendo only to change the pattern and surprise her into coming back down. He has her begging by the end. Begging to come, and nothing would make him happier than to have her shudder against his mouth. 

“I want to feel it,” he tells her, two fingers now buried inside, thumb drawing passes over her clit. He teases her, licking around the base of his fingers and occasionally playing in the spaces between his fingers and thumb, speaking to her in between. “I want to taste you when you come. I want to see your legs shake and feel your pretty pink cunt clench around me. Show me what it looks like, Hermione. Show me how fucking beautiful you are when you come.”

So she does. She comes, and she’s fucking gorgeous. Her back arches and her thighs quiver, threatening to give and drop her to the floor. Draco works his fingers through her orgasm, prolonging the tremors and tasting the sweet cream of her slit. He rises then, and grips her thick curls, gently tugging her face from the desk so he can have her lips, kissing her hard, willing her to taste herself on his tongue, while she whimpers and shudders beneath him. 

When he pulls away from her, his fingers slick from her passage, she is panting, and Draco is so painfully hard he’s ready to beg her for release. She doesn’t make him beg, goddamn angel that she is. She doesn’t even make him ask. 

Facing him and perching on the edge of the desk, Hermione pulls him closer. He settles between her legs, his cock sliding against her folds, shiny and slick with the evidence of her climax. “What took you so long?” She looks up at him with earnest eyes.

He isn’t sure what she’s asking and hums in question. 

“For this,” she clarifies. “You seemed interested, weeks ago… but then I’d started to think I read you wrong.”

“Hermione Granger isn’t capable of reading anything wrong,” he quips. Then he sobers and searches her gaze. “I was waiting for the right time.”

The witch giggles at him and lays one delicate fingertip on the furry ear atop her head. “This seemed like just the right time, did it?”

Smirking at her in answer, Draco slides his aching cock inside her, and her giggles taper off into a delighted moan. “Seems fucking perfect,” he answers and precedes to show her, through the thrusts of his hips, just how perfectly they fit together. 

Later, well past the time they should have been at the hospital wing, and probably time enough for their friends to start to wonder about them, they are laying together under their clothes, transfigured into soft blankets, Draco tracing patterns up and down Hermione’s arm. 

“Eventually, I have to go back to the dungeons and finish my assignment,” Draco laments, not eager to leave her embrace.

“Hmm,” she replies, utterly boneless and her words seeming to fail her. 

“I came in well ahead of my goal,” he muses, shifting slightly so he can look down at her.

Hermione turns her face to look at him and cards her fingers through his hair. “What goal?”

Grinning, he reveals, “To have you by the holidays. I’m about two point five months more charming than I realized.”

“And now that you’ve had me?” She bites her lip again, that adorable fang winking out at him.

“I guess I need a new goal,” he sighs. “I might already have one…”

“And what’s that?”

Draco moves from beneath her, pinning her under him and leans in to kiss her once, purposefully and slow. When he pulls away, he dares, “I’m very interested to see if you might return the favor I paid you today. I’d love for you to use your mouth on me,” he mumbles against her lips, tracing her seam with his tongue.

She hums in positive reply. “You could have that particular treat today if you really wanted.”

Giddiness starts to build, and Draco immediately has images of her mouth wrapped around his cock, his hand in her hair and her warm fuck-me eyes looking sweetly up at him. She bobs her head, swallowing him to the base, letting him fuck her pretty lips until he comes down her slender throat…

Then she grins, and Draco has a glimpse of her sharp little kitty fangs, and his libido settles right back down. 

Lying back beside her, Draco pulls Hermione onto his chest and says, “I think I’m about spent for today, love. But there’s plenty of time for that later.”

“So…” she hedges, and she’s the most unsure he’s seen her in weeks, finally asking, “So, this wasn’t just today, right? I mean, do you still want…?”

Elated at what he’s reading from her hesitant half questions, Draco cups her face in his hands and tilts her toward him for a gentle kiss. “I have lots of goals, Hermione. Could take a long time to work through them. Years even.”

He grins at her and she looks back, relief in her eyes even as her lips curl into a sexy smile. 

Years, he thinks. As long as she’ll have me.

They cat nap right through dinner. Pun absolutely intended.


End file.
